


Black Coffee in Bed

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the lips with a kiss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Coffee in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> For my dearest [](http://widget285.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://widget285.livejournal.com/)**widget285** , who needed a little porn to make her day better. As do we all.
> 
> Originally posted 6-26-06

Coffee is the first thing Archie smells as he awakens, the sharp scent cutting through early morning haziness to clear the air around him. He stretches and sits up, the strange sense of stillness causing him to open his eyes, reacquaint himself with the sturdy timber and unfamiliar sounds of rumbling wheels and animals in the distance. The bed is a lumpy excuse for a mattress, stuffed with sweet hay that jabs and pokes him as he pulls himself up to sitting.

Even finer than the coffee is the sight that greets him, one he sees far too little of. The pale sunlight filters in the window, bathing Horatio in motes of silvery-gold. He’s asleep in his chair, still clothed and gloriously rumpled, sprawled and spilling limbs he’s still not quite grown into.

Archie rises from the bed, his nightshirt doing little to hide the effect of seeing Horatio such has on him. He pads barefooted to the table, leaning down to brush a soft whisper of a kiss against his lover’s ear. “Horatio.”

He starts and transforms, no longer at ease but the Navy’s man, at attention and eyes alive. He relaxes visibly as he looks up to see Archie, but the easy laziness that had suffused him is gone. Archie smiles and swallows his sigh of regret and reaches for Horatio’s hand.

“Come to bed.”

“It’s morning,” Horatio protests, though he offers little resistance as Archie pulls him to his feet.

“It is. And you were on watch well into it. Come to bed.”

“Archie, I…”

Archie brooks no protest, his guiding hand bringing Horatio to a stop long enough for Archie to find the curve of his lips. Any more words are lost to the pressure of lips, the slide of tongues and the low, warm moan that rewards Archie for his troubles. He pulls away, slightly breathless, his blue eyes no doubt a reflection of Horatio’s own pleased gleam. “Hush. That’s an order.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“A good thing too, Horatio, as you despair at actually _taking_ an order.” Archie smiles, softening his tone as he uses the closeness of their kiss to his advantage, reaching up to tug the dark silk of Horatio’s stock loose. Horatio’s eyes close briefly as Archie’s fingers brush his throat, his reflexive swallow planting another smile on Archie’s lips.

Horatio reaches out, his own hands brushing the loose fabric over Archie’s chest, earning him a shake of the head. “In good time, Mr. Hornblower,” Archie assures him, his own hands busy loosing buttons and cloth, freeing Horatio from the confining strictures of his uniform. He slides Horatio’s jacket and waistcoat from his shoulders, easing them to the end of the bed.

Horatio stands still, eyes oddly watchful as Archie loosens his stock all the way, slipping it free from around Horatio’s neck. The silk falls away, as good as forgotten, as Archie’s fingers slide across the soft, worn fabric of Horatio’s shirt and tug it free of his trousers. Hands find skin and Horatio’s eyes drift close for a long moment before opening, the dark fathoms of them locked on Archie’s own gaze.

“Oh, to touch you, Horatio,” Archie’s voice is thick and rough as he pushes the shirt up Horatio’s lean, lithe form. He feels muscles and bone beneath the skin, but nothing penetrates beyond the soft-rough texture of flesh. He skims Horatio’s sides then eases his hands up, guiding Horatio’s arms ceiling-ward as he strips the shirt away.

“Mis…ter Kennedy,” Horatio’s voice catches and Archie smiles, the falling of the shirt a mere whisper of a breeze as Archie brings his hands back to Horatio’s chest, the tips of his fingers barely grazing flesh as they work their way down to the placket of cloth and the hard metal of buttons.

“So formal, Horatio,” Archie whispers, working the buttons free of their moorings with fingers practiced despite their trembling. He ignores the attempts of Horatio’s hands to land, flittering against his shirt and skin like startled birds, lighting finally on his shoulders as he sinks to his knees, taking what remains of Horatio’s clothing with him – trousers and small clothes and stockings – all stripped away.

Archie leans back, resting on his heels as he looks up at Horatio, basking in the emotion in the dark eyes. Archie reaches for his night shirt and tugs it free over his head. It falls, just as quickly forgotten, as Horatio’s eyes drink him in, widening just slightly as Archie leans forward and sheaths Horatio’s length in the heat of his mouth.

His fingers dig into the pale flesh of Horatio’s hips for balance and counterbalance, holding firm to the foundation of Horatio’s stance to guide his mouth along the smooth shaft, the tinge of arousal salty on his tongue. Horatio makes a low noise and his fingers press hard against Archie’s shoulders, seeking balance of his own.

Archie returns the soft moan, the vibrations sending a gasping shudder through Horatio. “Archie…” Horatio’s voice is pitched low, not quite a whisper as his hips thrust forward in response to the slow, steady pressure, the constant slide of Archie’s mouth and tongue. “Oh…please…”

Archie keeps his eyes on Horatio’s face, watching the build of pleasure slacken his features. Thumbs brushing the sharp jut of Horatio’s hip bones, Archie lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, his tongue pressing hard to the underside of Horatio’s shaft. Horatio’s hands moves from Archie’s shoulder to his hair, digging into the strands and tugging, his breath scattering down in warm waves lapping at Archie’s skin.

“Ar-Archie.”

Archie opens his eyes and pulls back, his mouth secured around the head of Horatio’s shaft. Horatio looks down at him, his lips parted on the breaking moan as Archie releases him, replacing his mouth with his hand to catch the sticky spill of Horatio’s climax.

Horatio slumps, near boneless, to the bed behind Archie. His breath comes in scattered pants, his chest heaving as he shivers with sensation. Archie moves over him, his own arousal pulsing and insistent as he slides between Horatio’s spread legs. Horatio stares at him, gaze clouded by desire, as Archie slides his hand down, the wet warmth of Horatio’s orgasm coating the even warmer flesh as he eases one finger past the tight ring of muscle.

“Oh…” Horatio’s body tenses around the penetration, his muscles curving against his flesh, standing out for a moment before relaxing as Archie remains still. Horatio’s mouth opens, another word poised on his lips, swallowed as Archie’s finger begins to move, slowly sliding deeper then retreating, spreading and stretching the tender flesh.

“Relax, Horatio,” Archie soothes, planting feather-light kisses against Horatio’s stomach and thighs, licking the salty-sweat and residual warmth from his skin. “Relax.” He punctuates the word with a soft nip at Horatio’s hip, the startled gasp and throaty laughter in response giving way to a thick moan as Archie eases another finger inside.

“Archie.” His name comes out on a huff of breath and he raises his eyes to Horatio, forcing himself to focus on the gaze locked on him, to think past the hard pulse of blood beneath his skin. There’s something low and pleading in Horatio’s voice, need that matches the rhythm of Archie’s pulse. “Please, Archie.”

Groaning, Archie frees his fingers from the tight grip of Horatio’s flesh and fumbles for the nightstand and the bottle of oil he’d placed there the night before and then done his best to forget about, failing miserably as he’d waited for Horatio’s long watch to end. He pours a measured handful and sets the oil aside, watching Horatio watch him. He coats his flesh, hissing at the sensation, his eyes closing on their own accord as Horatio’s long fingers encircle his shaft, smoothing the oil over his skin.

With what little self control remains, Archie grabs Horatio’s wrist, stilling it and easing it away from his shaft. He manages a weak smile then guides himself to Horatio’s opening, the tip of his erection pressing against the still-tensed flesh. “Easy,” he whispers, rolling his hips against Horatio in slow waves, the pressure of his thrust ebbing and building as he inched deeper, the tight wall of flesh closing around him.

“Yes,” he murmurs, lost in sensation. Horatio’s hands touch him, falling from his back to his waist, curving over hips then sliding back to his buttocks. Archie groans in response, his fragile rein on himself slips and he digs his hands into the bed, thrusting deeper, burying himself in the heat of Horatio’s body. “Yes,” he breathes again, lowering his head to the curve of Horatio’s shoulder, tasting his flesh.

“Archie,” Horatio’s breath is rough in Archie’s ear, stirring his tousled hair. Horatio’s hands knead and stroke Archie’s flesh, his hips rocking up to meet each downward stroke. Movement takes them, the sway of the ship no different than the sway of their bodies, and their voices fail, even murmured endearments giving way to scattered breath and Archie’s silent cry as he pressed his mouth to Horatio’s neck, spilling himself deep.

They shift and breathe after a moment, Archie easing off of Horatio with care, falling back on the tangled sheets pulled loose from the mattress. “A quiet watch, Mr. Hornblower?” He asks softly, drawing the corners of Horatio’s mouth up to a smile.

“Yes, Mr. Kennedy. Quiet indeed, though I was forced to listen to your incessant snoring when I finally arrived here to retire.” He turns on his side and rises up on his elbow, smiling down at Archie and drawing a soft line down his chest. “Though I suppose some sacrifices are worth the end result.”

“And am I that, Mr. Hornblower? Worth suffering through? Worth waking up to?” Archie catches Horatio’s hand and brings the finger to his mouth to kiss. “Worth missing your morning coffee?”

“All except the last, Mr. Kennedy.” Horatio smiles and kisses him, the curve of his mouth not fading as their lips met. “Though perhaps the coffee can wait till afternoon.”  



End file.
